


if you stay with me (i promise i won't leave)

by skrrtbitch



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-12 18:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19950688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skrrtbitch/pseuds/skrrtbitch
Summary: Clarke Griffin thought she was slowly killing Bellamy Blake, so she left. She wasn't try to hurt him- not on purpose; of course. And if he ever really did die, she knows she wouldn't be able to live with herself. That's why she stops at nothing to save him when he's captured by Azgeda.My writing is really choppy and inconsistent so please bare with me. A lot of things probably don't make sense in this fanfic if you compare it to the show but I'm a slut for hurt!bellamy so here we goooo.





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke has been on her own for months now, although it feels like years. It reminds her of her time on the ark; spending her days scavenging for food and building a suitable shelter. She tells herself she’s content and that her decision to leave camp was for the greater good. 

She’s recently come to the conclusion that leaving Bellamy was not for the greater good. 

“I can’t go back now,” she tells Niylah. “They’re better off without me.” 

Niyliah shakes her head, but continues to fix Clarke’s hair into a long, thin braid. “I don’t think Bellamy is better off without you,” she says, as if reading Clarke’s mind. “I mean, the way you talk about him. It’s pretty intense, Clarke. Whatever you two had seemed pretty intense.” 

“We didn’t even have anything like that.” 

Clarke can feel Niylah’s questioning gaze but continues to ignore it. “Are you almost done?” She asks, quickly trying to change the subject. 

“You can’t rush perfection.” 

Clarke sniffles a laugh. 

When Niylah finally finishes braiding Clarke’s hair, she gives her a peck on the cheek as they say a quick goodbye, until the next time Clarke needs Niylah to fix her wounds or give her a proper bath. 

The next time Clarke visits Niylah’s shop, however, doesn’t exactly go as planned. 

Niylah is distant and quiet. Clarke notices as soon as they make eye contact. “What?” She asks. “What is it?” 

Niylah sighs, deciding she can’t keep it from Clarke any longer. “Yesterday, some men from Azgeda came here asking about your friend. Bellamy.” 

Clarke immediately stands up, her chair falling to the ground due to the fast impact, and she rushes towards the door. “What way did they go? Did they say anything else?” 

“Clarke wait!” Niylah cries as she steps in front of the door to stop Clarke. “Please, doesn't do anything dangerous.” 

“Niylah. Move.” 

The sun is rising, and Clarke knows it’s always dangerous to go out in plain daylight. If they managed to find Bellamy yesterday, Clarke knows they would’ve captured him already, but he’s most likely alive. Somewhere. Probably chained up. 

“Clarke, just listen to me.” 

“Fine,” she interrupts. “Tell me which way they went and what they wanted from Bellamy.” 

Niylah rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, knowing that she won’t be able to convince Clarke to stay. “They went North,” she says. “They didn’t say much, but if I remember correctly they report directly to the leader of the Azgada army.” 

Clarke nods. “Thank you,” she mumbles as Niylah moves out of the way. Clarke doesn’t say anything else as she leaves, but Niylah catches her pull out her sword, ready to attack any oncoming enemies. 

Clarke has learned to fight so well with swords and knives she’s convinced it’s easier and better than a gun. She’s quick and logical. She’s learned a lot from Niylah; how to hunt, how to be quick and stealth. 

The guards don’t notice her as she watches them surrounding a door that leads to what seems to be an old shack. There’s four of them, and she keeps track of their movements; what they say to each other, there weapons. But it’s distant and in a language she doesn’t quite understand. 

She scopes out the area for as long as she thinks is necessary before jumping out of the tree she was in. She makes her way to the back of the rundown building, before returning to the front to kill the two guards standing at the door. The other two guards are frozen in shock and fear, but she doesn't give them enough time to make any noise or reach for any weapons. They fall silently and fatally to the ground without causing any disruptions. 

There are no other guards in sight, but Clarke figures more will appear soon. So she has to be quick, and she really hopes Bellamy is inside. If he’s not, she doesn’t have time to care about killing those guards for nothing. 

Clarke stumbles inside the dirty, wet basement of the wooden shack. She wouldn’t have guessed there even was one, judging by the looks of it she guesses people must’ve constructed it themselves. People from Azgeda. Sick, she thinks, but she knows her people would probably do the same to capture someone worthy to them. 

Like they did with Lincoln. And Emerson. 

“Clarke?” 

She turns to see Bellamy slouched in the corner; his hands tied to a hook on the wall above him, his head hung low on his shoulder. His face is bloodied and bruised. 

Clarke wants to kill every single member of Azgeda for doing this to him. 

“Bellamy.” 

She rushes to his side and cuts the rope that was tying his hands together. His arms fall by his sides as his body slouches a bit more to the side. 

“Hey,” Clarke whispers. She grabs his ripped jacked by his shoulder and attempts to sit him back up. “Hey,” she repeats, trying to get his attention as his eyes are closed and he’s continuing to slump over. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m here now.” 

She brushes his hair back out of his eyes and he finally opens them. Barley. “Clarke?” He asks again. 

She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. “Yeah. It’s me. I’m going to get you out of here. But you have to walk, Bellamy.” She puts his arm around her shoulders and tries to help him, despite their differences in body weight. 

“Bellamy, get up. Please,” she urges. 

He falls weakly into her chest; going in and out of consciousness. “Damnit, Bellamy.” She pulls him away from her with either hand on the side of his head. “We don’t have a lot of time. Please.” 

She tries to look anywhere but the scars on his face and bruises on his eye and covering his arms before she can count them. 

“I can’t,” he slurs. “I can’t do this anymore. Go- go before they come back.” 

Clarke scrunches up her face in confusion. “What? No. No-” she croaks, “I'm getting you out of here. Get up,” with one final shove she manages to get Bellamy onto his feet. 

“Good,” she mumbled, mostly to herself. 

They exit the same way she got in, but this time, an injured Bellamy is slumped on her side as he limps his way out with her.

She wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

“Wait,” she stopped when she hears something. “Stay here,” she places Bellamy down on the ground, contemplating on how difficult it will be to get him back up again. He simply lies on the ground with no complaints, his eyes closing again as he drifts off to sleep from weakness, blood loss, and as Clarke presumes, being hit in the head one too many times. 

Her heart doesn’t have time to feel this much pain. 

She pulls out her sword, but she suddenly hears her mother.

“Clarke?” 

She turns around to face Abby after months of not seeing her; not even saying goodbye. 

“Mom.” 

There are guards with her, a few of them attending to Bellamy. 

“Where have you been?” Abby cries, loud enough for Clarke to hear but no one else as the rest of the guards surround the area. 

“I had to get away,” she takes a deep breath as tears form in her eyes. “After what I did- I couldn’t just stay-” 

Abbey pulls Clarke into an unexpected hug. “God, I missed you,” she says. 

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut and lets a few loose tears fall. “I missed you too, mom.” 

“Please,” Abby says as she pulls back from Clarke. “Come back to camp with us. With Bellamy.” 

“I can’t-” 

“He’s been gone for three weeks. He’ll need you when he finally comes to. And he hasn’t been…” Abbey looks over to the guards helping Bellamy. “He hasn’t been his normal self without you. Please, Clarke.” 

Clarke looks at Bellamy too, and wonders what her mom means by him not being ‘his normal self.’ Besides, she wants to be there for him when he fully wakes up anyway. 

“Okay,” she finally says. “I’ll come back. But only for a few days.” 

Abby nods her head, oddly satisfied with Clarke's response. “Okay,” she whispers. The expression on Abby's face is enough for Clarke to feel even more guilt for leaving; but a different kind than she felt with Bellamy. She left her own mother. She left the rest of her family, and as she watches the guards carry Bellamy towards camp, she tells herself she never, ever wants to do it again.


	2. Chapter 2

Camp is dull and empty; filled with barley half of the people that came down in the original 100 drop ship. There are more adults now; only a few people she recognizes from working with her parents. The camp reminds her of all the people she once loved are lost. 

Like Lexa and Finn. And her father.

But not Bellamy. She won’t let Bellamy die. 

“Was he hit in the head?” Abbey asks Clarke as the guards place Bellamy on one of the hospital beds. 

“I don’t know,” Clarke answers. “I got there a few minutes before you did. I heard from- I heard that guards from Azgeda were looking for him so I tried to find him before they did.” 

Abbey nods her head. “You found him just in time.” 

Abbey sits Bellamy up to remove his jacket and shirt. Clarke, still dressed in her bloodstained ‘grounder’ outfit and deep red hair, rinses some fresh towels in alcohol. She looks over at Bellamy and notices a knife plunged in his thigh that she hadn't even noticed before. His shoulder is dislocated, too.

“Will you pop his shoulder back in while I go look for a sedative? He’s going to have to be sedated while we take out the knife and examine the majority of his internal wounds.” 

Clarke nods her head, but winces at ‘internal wounds.’ How badly could Azgeda have tortured him? What could they need to know so badly to tourute him this much? The more she thinks about it, the more she doesn’t even want to know. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke says to get his attention; pushing his hair away from his face. His eyelids are visibly heavy, and she taps his cheek a few times to try to wake him up. “I have to put your shoulder back into place.” 

He groans and closes his eyes again. “Just try to stay still,” Clarke says as she reaches behind him to help him sit up. She wraps her arm around his shoulder and pops it back into place with ease… on her end. She’s had to do this to many of her friends since they arrived on the ground. 

Wheezes for a minute and brings his legs up to his chest. She knows how badly he’s hurting, and if she knows anything about Bellamy, she knows he’s trying to hide it. 

Clakre moves a cool, damp cloth over Bellamy’s face; the blood staining the white materiel. She places her hand on the top of his head to steady him and she’s careful; focusing so much that when Bellamy gasps fully awake, he startles her, and she jumps back. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy’s voice croaks due to lack of water, and Clarke quickly jumps to grab a fresh cup full.

She puts it to his lips, slowly enough so he can sit up and drink it. 

“How did you find me?” He asks once he’s finished. She avoids his eyes by placing the- now empty- cup on the table beside her as she contemplates what to tell him. She also dreads what he might already know. 

“I heard that Azgeda… they were looking for you. So I found them.” She pauses and looks down at the rag in her hand. “Unfortunately they found you first.” 

“Don’t blame yourself, Clarke.” 

She shakes her head, holding back tears. Looking at Bellamy’s bruised and beaten body is enough to make her want to cry. “I should've stayed here,” she finally admits to not only Bellamy, but herself. “I should’ve been here to protect you.” 

She avoids looking at Bellamy but she can still feel his eyes on her. Instead, she pays attention to cleaning the blood off his face. 

“You can’t say that,” Bellamy says. “It’s not your fault they found me. There’s nothing else you could do.” 

“I should’ve stayed.” 

He attempts a shrug. “I mean, I guess I missed you.” 

She smiles, enough to please him, but she can’t bring herself to laugh. 

She brushes her hand lightly over his forehead and puts her hand on the top of his head to keep his hair back. She wonders when the last time it was he cut it. Then, she thinks he must’ve not have had time. Or maybe he gave up caring. 

“Please don’t leave again,” Bellamy suddenly pleads. “Stay. Stay with me; here.” 

Clarke shakes her head. “Let's not talk about that right now,” she says, then mumbles to herself, “where’s my mother.” 

“I don’t want to be here without you,” Bellamy pries, ignoring her. 

“Don’t say that,” Clarke snaps. “What was that all about earlier too, huh? Why did you stop fighting? When have you ever stopped fighting?” 

“When they ruptured my spleen.” 

Clarke finally meets Bellamy’s eyes. 

“Sorry,” he quickly says. “Bad joke. Bad timing… Honestly, Clarke. When you left me, I had nothing left to fight for.” 

She stands up and tries to stay calm while she dips the cloth back in the bowl of alcohol while she continues to clean his face and neck. She brushes his tangled hair back with one hand, and cleans his face with the other. 

“You have your sister. Our friends. Yourself. That’s not enough, Bellamy?” 

“You,” he brings his hands up to his chest and forms a circle motion with his fingers. “Complete me.” 

Clarke laughs this time. Loudly, and she doesn’t even bother holding it back. She knows that he’s excited to have her back, but it still amazes her that he can fight through the pain enough to make jokes. 

“What if I didn’t save you?” Clarke asks, changing the subject back to her original question. “What would you have done? Would you have given up?” 

“No,” Bellamy says. “There was still a part of me that believed you’d find me.” 

Clarke looks down at her feet. 

“Where were you?” Bellamy suddenly asks. “Where did you even go?” 

“I made a friend. She took care of me for a while before I built my own shelter. I survived. I actually think I did okay for a-” 

“-princess,” Bellamy finishes. “The princess ran away and learned how to fight.” 

Clarke doesn’t say anything. 

“Thats cute.” 

Abbey storms into the room. “Clarke,” she yells. “The chancellors' been injured. Take care of Bellamy, I’ll be back soon.” 

“Wait where’s the sedative?” 

Abbey shakes her head. “There was none. You can do this, Clarke. Just like with Finn.” 

Just like with Finn. 

Just like Finn.

Finn.

“Mom-” 

Abbey’s out of the medical room before Clarke can say anything else. 

“Damnit.” 

“That bad, huh?” Bellamy asks. 

Clarke turns to face him, finally looking him in the eye. She knows what she has to do, and it’s going to destroy her to cause Bellamy that much pain. 

“I have to pull the knife out.” 

Bellamy cringes. “I can’t really feel my leg anymore, anway.” 

“That’s not good.” 

“I know.” His voice is weak; he can barley talk any louder than a whisper, but in the meantime, Clarke is yelling out of frustration. She decides to start by pouring alcohol right onto the wound, grabbing Bellamy’s leg above the knee and holding it down so he can’t move it too much. He throws his head back and hisses through his teeth. 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says. “Just try not to move.” 

Bellamy turns his head to other side and bites his lower lip. “This is going to hurt?” He asks, and Clarke knows that he knows the answer. 

“Yeah,” she says anyway. 

“I trust you.” 

“I know.” 

Clarke grabs Bellamy’s thigh as tight as she can, knowing he’s going to move anyway. She wishes she could go quickly to cause him less pain, but she has to make sure to go slow enough to not cause any more damage. 

She grabs the knife carefully and begins to pull in an upwards motion, where the handle of the knife is already facing. Bellamy makes a strangled noise from deep in his throat. 

“Breath, Bellamy. It’s almost done.”

Bellamy is facing the other way, so she’s able to lie in an attempt to calm him down. She really only managed to move the knife a few centimeters out of his leg. 

She continues to remove the knife at an upwards angle, causing Bellamy a tremendous amount of pain. He manages to stay remotely calm until the knife is finally out; squeezing his eyes shut and letting a few tears fall. From the pain. Not from the relief of Clarke finally being here. 

“Okay,” Clarke finally says. “It’s out.” She throws the knife to the table and quickly presses a cloth to Bellamy’s fresh wound. It’s bleeding more than she thought it would, and it’s become difficult to get to the wound through his pants. 

“You’re going to have to take off your pants.” 

“Awesome.” 

Clarke ignores him and places her hand on his forehead. “Do you feel feverish? There could’ve been poison on the knife and I have to make sure-” 

Bellamy shakes his head and keeps his eyes closed. He struggles to talk, but somehow manages. “They told me right away that they weren’t going to kill me, and they’d take the knife out if I told them where the camp is.” 

Clarke begins to feel feverish herself. “Did you?” She asks, hesitantly. 

Bellamy shakes his head again and clears his throat. Clarke decides that’s enough questions, and begins to take his pants off.


	3. Chapter 3

“Just arch your back for me,” Clarke says. “Put your feet here,” she grabs his ankles and puts his feet on the end of the bed. “And sit up only when I tell you to. You can’t use energy you don’t have.”

He nods his head and wipes a few tears from his eyes. But Clarke already noticed. 

Bellamy does as he’s told and Clarke is able to leave him in his briefs with ease. He’s begun to sweat and shake, but she tested the knife anyway and there was no poison. It’s from the pain; she knows he’s suffering and it doesn’t help that he’s desperately trying to hide it. 

Clarke rushes to properly bandage his wound now that it’s easier to get to, and surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything. It must be awkward for him, she thinks. But it is not awkward for her. She’s done this plenty of times to almost everyone she knows. She’s patched up Murphy’s wounds, attended to Raven’s leg. She’s a doctor. It’s what she does. 

“How is it feeling?” She asks him. 

“Well,” Bellamy croaks. “I can definitely feel it now.” 

Clarke meets his watery eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, one hand still on his thigh as she runs the other hand through his hair; damp with tears and sweat. “I’m really, really sorry, Bellamy.” 

He grabs her hand from his hair. “I know,” he tells her, sincerely.

She offers him a weak smile before retrieving a damp rag. 

Bellamy smiles up at her when she puts the rag on his forehead. “What?” She asks him, raising an eyebrow. 

“I missed you.” 

“You need more fluids.” Clarke holds another cup of water to his lips, and he doesn’t break eye contact as he begins drinking. 

Three guards burst through the door and Clarke quickly averts her eyes from Bellamy and places the cup of water on the table. 

“Blake,” one of the guards addresses him by his last name, and it sounds weird to Clarke. It sounds so foriegn. “You were reportedly gone for three weeks?” Clarke doesn’t recognize the guard with the notebook in his hand, apparently taking notes from Bellamy’s responses. 

“Yeah. Azgeda took me.” 

“What were you doing outside the gate?” 

Bellamy hesitates for a moment. He looks at Clarke, and she can feel his eyes even though she’s pretending to wash more rags. “I-um. I was just going for a walk.” 

“I have a hard time believing that, considering a few of the guards at the gate saw your sister leave about an hour before you did.” 

Clarke finally turns around and steps towards the three guards; shielding Bellamy as she says, “I don’t appreciate you interrogating my patient right now. You’re going to have to come back another time after he gets some rest.” 

The guards stand frozen, looking between her and Bellamy. The only women guard standing before them looks Clarke up and down before asking, “you’re not from here.” 

“No,” Clarke says. “But my mother is; Abbey Griffin.” 

“Oh,” the female guard says. “My apologies, Clarke. We’ll return tomorrow.” 

Clarke wonders how the guard already knew her name, but she decides that’s a concern for later. She turns to face Bellamy-who’s already drifting off in his briefs on the hospital bed. 

“Where is Octavia?” She asks, uncertain if it’s her place. 

“She’s,” Bellamy waves his hand in the air before answering, “out. She’s always out; going back and fourth to a grounder village, I guess. It’s like she’s made a new family there,” he tries to joke around, bringing himself to smile but not quite a laugh. 

“You’ll always be her family, Bell. She’ll come around.” 

Clarke suddenly feels her face heat up at the nickname she used for Bellamy-she’s never said that before. She’s never made a nickname for him, although he has plenty for her. 

He just sighs into a shrug and slides down on the hospital bed. “I’m going to sleep,” he mumbles. 

“Okay,” Clarke grins at him. 

“Oh,” he suddenly says; his eyes snapping open to look at her. “You can stay in my room for now, if you need to. I mean- like while I'm in here or whatever. You probably don’t have your own room yet, and Abbey isn’t-yeah,’ he stammers. Clarke patiently waits for him to finish talking; she’s not going anywhere until Abbey gets back. 

“But just- Clarke- for the love of god, just don’t leave me again,” he’s pleading-begging at this point-his voice cracked and his heart broken. Clarke knows she did this to him, and she hates herself for it. Niylia was right- she never should have left. She never should have left him. 

Clarke swallows hard before answering, not trusting her own voice, but knowing she needs to stay strong for Bellamy. “I’m staying. I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.” She pulls up a chair to the side of his bed, and obnoxiously gestures towards it with her hands. She then sits, and places her hands on her lap, contently. 

Bellamy huffs a laugh before closing his eyes, and falling asleep not long after.


	4. Chapter Four

“Where is he? Where’s my brother?” Clarke can hear Octavia before she can see her, and she quickly jumps up out the door so she doesn’t wake Bellamy. 

The same female guard from before is racing after Octavia. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Griffin. I tried to tell her-”

“No,” Clarke says. “It’s okay,” she places her hand on Octavia’s shoulder and looks her in the eyes. Her face is covered in makeup, much like Lexa’s, and Clarke feels a small ping deep insider her heart that-by this point-she’s able to easily overcome. 

“Bellamy is fine. He’s sleeping-but he’s okay. We found him just in time.” 

Clarke doesn’t want to tell anyone she went on a massacre to find Bellamy and came back to camp even though she swore to herself she wouldn’t. 

“Can I see him?” Octavia asks, with genuine concern. 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

Bellamy is still sleeping when Clarke and Octavia approach him; Octavia scanning him up and down and Clarke realizing-yet again-how horribly beaten he looks. Octavia is already crying by the time she talks. 

“They beat him,” she assumes. “Azgeda.” 

“Wait, how did you know that?” 

Octavia doesn’t avert her gaze from Bellamy as she gently grabs his hand in hers. “I heard that they were looking for him and Pike after they massacred that army but I didn’t think they’d-” 

Clarke’s head is spinning so fast she hast to close her eyes for a second. “Wait, what?” 

Octavia finally looks at Clarke and this time she really looks at Clarke; noticing how they both look like grounders. “Pike is chancellor.” 

“The Earth Skills teacher?” 

Octavia nods. “Bellamy, Monty, and a few other people from the hundred are a few of his main guards. They massacred a grounder army- Azgeda’s army. They weren’t going to hurt us. Not yet, anyway. There was still time,” Octavia starts to chokes on her words before clearing her throat. “They didn’t have to do that,” she says. “They were harmless.” 

Clarke is still processing everything and she doesn’t notice Octavia’s complete change in mood. “I’m going to find them. I’m going to find the people who did this to my brother.” 

“Wait,” Clarke reaches her hand out to stop Octavia from leaving. “They’re already dead. I killed them.” 

Octavia grins at Clarke. “Wow,” she mumbles. “I never would’ve expected that from you.” 

Clarke doesn’t say anything snarky, and even if she wanted to, Bellamy already woke up. 

“O?” he croaks; his eyes are still closed for a moment as he reaches for her hand. 

Octavia rushes to hug him, but Clarke can’t bring herself to look at him.

If she knew Bellamy helped massacre all those people she wouldn’t have stayed. She would’ve left as soon as she got that knife out. She knows she doesn’t belong here; the way people looked at her as she was rushing in with Bellamy was so uncomfortable she wishes she could’ve left right then and there.

“You know what,” she suddenly says, looking up. “I’m going to change my clothes. And shower, maybe.” 

“Okay,” Octavia says. “You can-um-borrow some of my clothes if you want.” She tells Clarke her room number and Clarke is running out of the door before Bellamy can say anything to her. 

She doesn’t want to look at him right now, let alone talk to him. She doesn’t know what she would say, but she’s furious. When she finally showers and changes into some more normalized clothes, it helps her feel more centered. She feels like she did when she first got into the drop ship; she blends in better. 

She brushes her hair into a small braid, feeling a strange kind of relief having her nappy red hair finally out of her face. 

She admires herself in Octavia’s mirror before she leaves. Clarke is noticeably more skinny, but tan, due to being outdoors so much. She has bags under her eyes and her lips are painfully chapped-she makes a mental note to find some kind of vaseline in the medical bay. 

Octavia has a few of Lincoln's drawings lining along her mirror; Clarke recognizes his style of drawing from when she first met him and read through his notebook. He’s good, she thinks, maybe even better than her. 

Other than that, Octavia’s room is surprisingly pretty plane. Knowing Octavia, she would’ve lingered the walls with weapons and holsters at this point, but it occurs to Clarke she must have a room outside of camp. Maybe in that grounder village, with Lincoln. 

That’s what Bellamy meant. She not only has another family, but she has another home. 

Clarke doesn’t care right now. She doesn’t even want to see Bellamy, but she hast to go check on him. She has to. 

Octavia is sitting in the chair that Clarke was once sitting in. She’s laughing, and Bellamy is weakly smiling at her as she talks. Clarke realizes the siblings haven’t seen each other in three weeks, and she even wonders if she should give them more time. 

She opens the door anyway, and quickly comes up with something to distract herself. “Has my mom been back yet?” 

Octavia and Bellamy shake their head in sync. 

Now things are weird. 

“The guards?” 

They both shake their heads again. 

Clarke takes a deep breath in and out. “How are you feeling?” She addresses her question to Bellamy this time, trying to keep any emotion out of her voice. 

“Fine,” he says. “How are you?” 

She ignores him. “I’m going to go look for my mom. She should’ve been back by now- she should’ve been done with the chancellor.” 

“Wait,” Bellamy stops her. “You can’t leave.” 

She presses her lips together. There’s an awkward silence, especially with Octavia in the room.

“I need to go actually,” Octavia announces, but both Clarke and Bellamy are aware that Octavia doesn’t need to leave, she just desperately wants to avoid the awkwardness. “I’ll see you at dinner, Bell.” She kisses his head before she leaves; sending Clarke a small smile before darting off to the hall, closing the door behind her. 

Clarke knows Bellamy well enough to expect what he’s about to say next. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Clarke closes her eyes for a moment; still facing the door. “You killed innocent people.” 

Bellamy audibly groans. “Is that what Octavia told you.” 

Clarke whips around and walks right up to Bellamy’s bed. “Yes. That’s what she told me. Is it true?” 

“They weren’t innocent-” 

Clarke barks a laugh. “Of course.” 

“Clarke-” 

She shakes her head and fumbles with her braid. “No,” she says. “We’re not talking about this. Not now.” 

“What are you going to do?” He asks, testing her. “Leave?” 

She pauses, and looks at him. 

Then, that’s what she does; she leaves without saying a word.


End file.
